


Speaking In Bodies

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” he says, readjusting his backward snapback. “Niall. Don't think I know you?”</p>
<p>“You do seem to know everyone else here,” Zayn points out. Niall has an accent and, from as close as they need to be to hear each other over the music, a few freckles.</p>
<p>"Everyone else but the most gorgeous person in the place," Niall says, with a sly grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking In Bodies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icecreamsocialist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/gifts).



> We sorta just wanted to see if/prove our hearts hadn't entirely shriveled up after writing our castlefic, so we dug up an old PWP prompt from [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist)! She originally asked for sex in a bar loo, but we hope this works, too. (P was like, _delighted_ that "alley blow jobs" is an existing AO3 tag. The internet is great.) Title from Settle Down by The 1975.

Bars are _not_ Zayn’s scene. Louis knows this; Zayn’s told him approximately a trillion times that the strip of dives and pubs a couple of blocks down from the quad hasn’t a part in his ideal Saturday night plans, but that didn’t seem to deter Louis tonight, pregaming with half a bottle of wine and talking Zayn’s ear off about how all he’s done for the past week is sit in his room studying like a recluse. Zayn’s at the point in the semester where he’d rather just give in than have to deal with Louis pouting over corn flakes when he wakes up the following day at half three. So here he is, at one of the stupid dives, being an excellent best mate and roommate.

Louis hadn't even had the courtesy to buy him a drink for his trouble, leaving Zayn at the bar at the first sight of a mop of curly hair in the middle of the dance floor. Someday Zayn will leave _Louis_ behind in something other than grades, but tonight is apparently not that night.

It’s as he begins his second drink, still watching Louis somewhat wryly from the bar, that he notices the blond hovering three barstools down. Zayn guesses he must’ve been sitting at one point, or intended to sit, but so many people are coming up to him for handshakes and hugs that he’s simply leaning on the counter, Guinness in hand, laughing so loudly Zayn can even hear it over the laddy house music. 

Zayn hates Guinness and house music, and generally anything laddy, but he likes this guy's smile. Especially when the blond leans back a little further, looking past one of his friends, and directs that grin at Zayn. 

Zayn hasn't been on the pull in months, ever since that Liam debacle, and he certainly hadn't intended to try anything tonight, at a dive bar that Louis lists in his top three favorites. But opportunity knocks, and all.

Zayn’s just decided to approach him when the bloke beats him to the punch, which is unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome. “Hey,” he says, readjusting his backward snapback. “Niall. Don't think I know you?”

“You do seem to know everyone else here,” Zayn points out. Niall has an accent and, from as close as they need to be to hear each other over the music, a few freckles.

"Everyone else but the most gorgeous person in the place," Niall says, with a sly grin, raising his glass and tipping his head to Zayn as if it weren't clear enough.

It’s the sort of line that _should_ have Zayn rolling his eyes, that should come out stale, but there’s a weird feel to this kid; a self-awareness, like he _knows_ he’s wearing a stupid hat with a logo for some random team in America on the brim and a cotton vest in October, his mates a few feet away seeming ready to start chanting for a keg stand. Knows and doesn't care, and dares Zayn not to care either.

Zayn sticks out his hand. "I'm Zayn," he offers. "You go to school here?"

Niall smiles, obviously pleased, and takes Zayn's hand firmly. His own is a little warm, damp with condensation from his pint, and he holds on a bit longer than the usual bloke would, nodding. "Poli sci and business," he says. "You?"

“English,” Zayn says, after a beat. Niall’s essentially staring down every stereotype that could be attributed to him and promptly ignoring it. Zayn _likes_ it. “With a bit of fine arts,” he tacks on, which he’s usually reluctant to share, but it’s hard to keep much to himself when Niall seems so open, so receptive.

"Oh, sick," Niall says, taking another sip of his pint and licking the foam off his upper lip. "I've got a mate who's in media and fine arts, McDermott? Tall skinny fellow with a dead ferret on his head?"

Zayn doesn’t know him, but he laughs all the same. “Sounds... Irish,” he grins.

"We've got to stick together," Niall agrees. "Got a proper group of us who board together this semester. All craic all the time."

“I’m sure,” Zayn nods, taking the last sip of his beer. He still isn't sure what this kid's game is, if he's friendly or trying to pull. To be honest, Zayn couldn't answer the same question himself. But opportunity, and that. “Listen, I was about to head out for a fag, do you smoke?"

"Not cigs, usually," Niall laughs, but nods. "I'll join if it's alright, though."

“Why I offered,” Zayn mutters, trying to hide the wide grin edging at his mouth. 

It’s nippy out, and Niall has stolen one of his mates’ jackets on his way out, a letterman two sizes too big with ‘Breslin’ in bold letters across the shoulders. Zayn pulls his pack out of his back pocket once they’re in the alley and struggles to light up until Niall cups his hands over his, blocking the wind. “Cheers,” Zayn nods, once he’s lit up, exhaling to his right to keep the smoke out of Niall’s face.

Niall watches him intently, leaning up against the building and sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “You look good like that,” he says, quiet against the thrum of music from inside the club and the sound of traffic at the end of the alley.

“I’ve gotta ask,” Zayn clears his throat, takes another drag and holds it--to keep Niall on his toes or to figure out his wording, either one. “Are you usually this forward with people you chat up?”

“Is it working?” Niall looks up from Zayn’s mouth and meets his eyes, holds the glance. 

Zayn almost chokes on smoke; huffs it out through his nose, burning, and chews on his lip. “C’mere and find out.”

Niall grins, the smile exploding across his face and showing off dimples in the both cheeks. “You gonna put that fire hazard down first?” He’s reaching out for it even as he says it, fingers closing around the fag in Zayn’s fingers and giving him a quick questioning glance before flicking it to the ground, grabbing Zayn’s wrist and tugging him closer.

Zayn leans up against Niall’s chest and steadies himself with a hand in the crook of Niall’s elbow, spares a moment to hope Niall won’t care that he tastes like smoke. From how quickly Niall bends to meet his mouth, it’s a safe bet not.

The kiss is tentative, at first, like even now Niall isn’t completely sure he’s charmed Zayn with his loud laugh and blue, blue eyes. Zayn’s the one who traces the seam of Niall’s lips with his tongue first, but Niall beats him to dip his tongue into Zayn’s mouth, taste bitter from the pint he’d finished before coming outside.

Zayn steps closer instinctively, moving his hand to Niall’s shoulder and nodding encouragingly when his hand settles on Zayn’s waist. Niall’s hair is falling in one eye, and Zayn can’t help reaching his other hand to tuck it back, knocking his snapback off in the process, and then weaving his fingers through the bits behind Niall’s ear.

In turn, Niall steps between Zayn’s legs and slots their hips together, which is a bit more risqué than Zayn would usually go for in an alley behind a bar, but he’s two pints in and Niall’s mouth is doing _things_ to him. Niall shifts his hips forward and Zayn tightens the hand in his hair, muffles a grunt against Niall’s lips.

“Wanna get you off,” Niall says, right against Zayn’s mouth, and it takes a moment for Zayn to decide he actually said it out loud.

“It’s a ten minute walk back to mine--” Zayn starts, but Niall’s shaking his head just as quickly, biting Zayn’s lower lip and drawing it into his mouth, tracing it with the tip of his tongue.

“Rather stay here and skip the walk, to be honest,” he says, when he lets Zayn’s lip go, opens his eyes to meet Zayn’s. “I’ve got the worst gag reflex but I’ll give it a shot, yeah?”

Zayn’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the desire to have a story for Louis later, or the fact that Niall has figuratively charmed the pants off of him and is well on his way to literally doing so, that sways him to say, “Yeah, okay,” pecking Niall’s lips to seal it.

“Okay,” Niall grins, radiantly pleased. “Okay. Sick. Let me, uh--” He’s surprisingly nimble getting Zayn’s fly undone, dragging his skinnies down his hips by the belt loops. He doesn’t move them too far, which Zayn is thankful for; he’d rather not awkwardly point out they’re still in an alley if he doesn’t have to. Niall shucks out of his borrowed coat and folds it under himself as he kneels, leaning into Zayn’s legs heavily for a moment. “So fucking fit,” he says, under his breath, stroking his palms down Zayn’s thighs and up his stomach, under his shirt. 

It feels a lot more intimate than having a relative stranger on his knees in front of you in an alley ought to feel, but then Niall’s pulling Zayn’s half-hard cock out through the opening of his y-fronts and grinning at the realization that Zayn’s circumcised. “Never been with a cut lad before,” he says, as casually as one might throw out useless trivia or a comment about the weather, before promptly guiding Zayn’s cockhead between his lips, his hand fisted around the base.

Zayn realizes he hadn’t quite been ready sometime between when his head cracks against the wall behind him and Niall makes a choking sound as Zayn scrabbles to balance himself with a hand too tightly fisted in his hair. “Shit, sorry, sorry,” Zayn yelps, rubbing at Niall’s temples soothingly and at his own head with his other hand. “I’m so sorry, mate, fuck.”

Niall makes a face up at him and licks at a drip of spit down the side of his mouth. “S’alright. You good now? Just, I want you in my mouth and I’d rather not have me hair pulled out if I try it again.”

“I’m good,” Zayn laughs, letting his hand fall to Niall’s jaw, thumbing at his stubble. “Again?”

“Again,” Niall echoes, and this time he goes a bit slower, licking a hot stripe down Zayn’s cock to the base and nosing around in the hair Zayn keeps so carefully trimmed, stretching the fabric like he’d kiss all the way to the crease of Zayn’s thigh if he could reach it. 

Zayn’s reminded that they’re _outside_ , where anyone could see them, when he hears laughter coming from down the alley. The sound doesn’t seem to be coming towards them, and between the darkness and a dumpster a few feet away they’re fairly covered, but that doesn’t stop Zayn’s heart hammering in his chest. It sounds so loud in his ears that he nearly misses Niall’s soft “Okay?” as he licks around the crown of Zayn’s cock. 

Inspite of the noise, it’s no contest. Niall’s breathing wetly over Zayn’s cockhead and he’s obviously waiting for the go ahead for more. Zayn manages a nod, swallows hard to stop his moan when Niall hollows his cheeks around his cock, gives a long suck before he pulls off to spread the spit and wank Zayn with one hand.

“Close,” Zayn warns, too soon, but Niall just smiles up at him, moves his hand faster and kisses sloppily at Zayn’s cockhead, pushes the tip of his tongue against Zayn’s slit. Catching movement out of his peripheral vision, Zayn looks down to see Niall’s free hand palming over the crotch of his jeans. He hopes, selfishly, that Niall won’t get off that way, will wait long enough to at least let Zayn feel him first. His reaction to finding Zayn was cut probably means he’s not, and Zayn wants to see that.

Niall reaches up and rubs his fingers at Zayn’s balls through his underwear, gentle but practiced, and Zayn would bet anything it’s what he likes, that he’s trying to get Zayn off using all his own favorite techniques. It’s somehow sweet, and that probably shouldn’t be what gets him off out of all this, but it is. 

Niall sputters, worst gag reflex indeed, rearing back and making a face, but he keeps wanking Zayn through it, knuckles at the sensitive skin behind his balls, fingers warm through the cotton of Zayn’s pants. They probably should’ve planned better, given the circumstances, because there’s come all across Niall’s chin and cheek. Ask Zayn if he gives a motherfuck. 

He swipes at the mess with his thumb, pushing a smear of come up the swell of Niall’s lower lip. Niall closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and takes it, sucking it off Zayn’s fingertip. “Right menace,” Zayn says, and it’s much less teasing and more in awe than he’d intended it. 

Niall grins, smug, and holds out his clean hand. “Help me up? I’ve sort of got a bum knee,” he admits, licking a smear of come off the back of his hand, cat-like.

“Are you taking the piss?” Zayn frowns, helping Niall back to his feet and snatching his jacket up before Niall can try to bend down for it.

“Nah, got a bit of an injury, me,” Niall shrugs, rubbing his bad knee tenderly. “Not from doing this, though.”

It surprises a laugh out of Zayn, who catches Niall’s lips in a quick kiss, straying from his lips to lick up a bit of come off Niall’s chin. “You’re mad. Lemme make it up to you? Think your mates will mind if we go back to mine?”

Niall snags his cap off the ground and wraps his free hand around Zayn’s neck, drawing him in for another kiss. His fingers on Zayn’s nape are a little sticky, but Zayn can’t care too much. “Nah,” Niall says, fingering the brim of his snapback before lifting it and settling it backwards on Zayn’s head. “They can deal. Let’s get out of here.” 


End file.
